Legacy
by Aebhel
Summary: Narnia has left its mark on all of them, and they have left their marks on Narnia. Mostly about Peter during his reign as High King. Peter/OC.
1. Breakfast, And A Revelation

A/N: With my record, I probably shouldn't try to start another chaptered story, but I've got about twenty pages of this sitting on my computer, so I'm going to give it a try. I'll do my best to update regularly.

It's midday, three days after their victory at Beruna, and Caspian is sitting in the sunlit castle kitchens, enjoying a leisurely mug of coffee and talking about nothing in particular with the High King (although they have all insisted that he call them by their given names, he can't quite make himself do it inside his head). It's the sort of day where one doesn't want to do anything in particular, and though Caspian has a thousand things that need doing, he can't quite make himself rush. The things he took for granted a scant few months past--hot coffee, hot pastries, bread that isn't stale and meat that isn't about to turn--now seem like unparalleled luxuries, and even when breakfast is reduced to crumbs, he lingers.

He's on his second mug of coffee when King Peter reaches across the table and catches his forearm. Caspian glances at him, startled, and sees that he is staring at the small, rose-shaped birthmark on Caspian's inner arm.

"That's an odd mark," he says, and his voice is quiet and strange.

Caspian glances down at it himself. "I get it from my mother, from the southern clans," he says by way of explanation.

Behind him, the door opens. Queen Susan, Queen Lucy, and King Edmund drop into the empty seats at the plain wooden table without ceremony and begin loading their plates with food. King Peter scarcely glances up at them; he is still peering at Caspian's arm. "The southern clans?"

"Doctor Cornelius says that they were Archenland's landholders. They were driven into the hills when the Telmarines invaded. My mother was one of them, on her father's side." Beside him, Queen Susan goes abruptly still; he can see her out of the corner of his eye, staring at the High King. King Peter is still looking at him, though, so he continues. "All the first-borns of my line have it--that's what Doctor Cornelius says anyway. I've never met anyone else. He said they call it the--er--the Lion's Kiss." He blushes, saying it. It all seemed fascinating when he was translating dusty history tomes in Doctor Cornelius' study, but now, with the Kings and Queens of old sitting with from him in the flesh, it sounds a bit silly.

King Peter doesn't laugh, or even smile. His eyes lift slowly to Caspian's; his face is white and he looks as though he's been slapped. For a long moment his mouth moves silently, then he drops Caspian's arm and shoves his chair away from the table hard enough that it falls over and he almost trips over it in his haste to leave the room.

King Edmund puts his fork down, very deliberately, and pinches the bridge of his nose as though trying to stave off a headache.

"Oh dear," says Queen Susan.

Queen Lucy finishes her mug of chocolate. "Ed, you'd best go after him. We'll explain."

"Right," mutters King Edmund. He shoves his own chair back and stalks off in the same direction that King Peter went.

Caspian is blinking, his arm still stretched across the table, trying to make sense of what has just happened. "What--did I say something--?"

"It wasn't you." Queen Lucy pats his arm. "Peter's just had--"

"--a bit of a shock," finishes Queen Susan in a dry tone.

Caspian rubs the birthmark with two fingers, as though it is a spot that he can scrub away. "I don't understand."

Queen Susan sighs. "I wasn't expecting this--"

"I'll explain," interrupts Queen Lucy firmly. Caspian smiles a little at that. She looks so young--they all do, really--but there is something about her that is older than her years. Even though her feet don't quite reach the floor. She pours herself another mug of chocolate and crosses her legs under her. "You see, in the sixth year of our reign, bandits were raiding the borders of Archenland, and since King Lune had pledged most of his troops to fight the Giants in the north, he asked us to take in the landholders' families, for their protection."

Queen Susan smiles a little, remembering. "Peter hated it."

"Yes," says Queen Lucy, "but hush. I'm telling the story. So, once upon a time…"


	2. Presentation To The Court

_"Once upon a time," Lucy continued, "in the court at Caer Paravel, there was a young woman named Elena..."_

_

* * *

_

He was tall, but not terribly so; a lanky young man on the far edge of adolescence, blond stubble just shading his smooth cheeks. It was this that comforted Elena more than anything, and gave her the courage to look up from her curtsey, look up through her veil of dark curls and meet his eyes.

"Your Highness," she murmured.

"Please," he said, and extended a hand, flushing. "Please, rise."

She did not take his hand, not then.

* * *

She saw him next in the library, some weeks later. He had been avoiding her; avoiding all of the suitable young ladies and sequestering himself with his lords for days on end. Queen Susan had been by her chambers to make sure that all was well, and as all _was_ well, there was nothing more to say on the subject.

She did not recognize him, not right away. He had no entourage, no attendants; he wore no crown. He had perched himself high on a window seat with his long legs stretched out and the afternoon light glinting in his golden hair. There was a heavy book in his lap but he was not reading it; he had turned toward the window so that only the line of his cheekbones showed. He had not shaved, and the new beard was coming in patchy.

She thought, it must be confessed, that he was a guard or a manservant shirking his duties. So young. So _very_ young.

She would not have approached so close had she known him, and when he turned at her footsteps and she did recognize him, it was too late. She dropped into a curtsey, pooling her red skirts elegantly around her ankles as she had been taught.

There was the sound of soft boots hitting the floor, and then he stood before her. "You are the Lady Elena, are you not?" he asked softly.

"Yes, High King."

"I wish," and his voice was less soft, now, "that you would not call me that."

Elena examined the subtle pattern in the red silk where it strained against her knee. There was a pulled thread there. She would have the maids see to it when she returned to her chambers. "What shall I call you then, Sire?"

He sighed from somewhere over her head. "I have a name. It seems lately that my sisters are the only ones to remember that. And if you are here to secure a royal wedding, it might be worth your while to practice calling me by it."

He turned on his heel and strode away. Elena told a few of the other ladies, to enjoy the jealous looks, but she did not think he had intended the words as a compliment.

* * *

She had not meant to be passing by his chambers later that night, did not intend to hear his voice raised in argument over Queen Susan's soft, soothing tones.

"…I shan't be sold off like a prize stallion to the highest bidder! Archenland is our ally already, and I hardly think--"

"Peter. It's only until Ed gets back, you know. He'll sort things out. And you know with the bandits raiding the southern border that the landholders are sending their daughters to court for their protection."

" 'Protection', hah." He sounded sullen. "Of all the times Ed could have chosen to go for a trip to the islands…"

"The negotiations are sensitive. You know they needed him there." Queen Susan's reproachful tone turned sly. "At this rate, mayhap you'll have them all too terrified of your shadow to even think of pursuing you."

"They can go on like that all night," said a new voice from behind her, and Elena jumped. A slender girl sat on the stairwell in a silken wrapper, her thick blonde hair braided for sleep. The Queen Lucy, she realized belatedly, and moved to curtsey.

"Please don't," said the Queen, and because her voice was as merry as the High King's had been sullen, and because she was scarcely a young woman yet with her coltish legs and soft, girlish cheeks, Elena did not.

"My brother is feeling quite put-upon," the Queen said, and there was a teasing tone in her voice. "He usually has better manners."

"I should hope so," said Elena without thinking, and then slapped a hand over her mouth, horrified. The Queen only giggled.

"Oh, indeed, or _we_ would have something to say about it." She pulled herself to her feet on the railing and smiled. "I'm just off to the kitchens--Mr. Tumnus often has a bit of tea before bed, he says it calms his stomach. Would you like to come?"

Without waiting for an answer, she hooked a hand into the crook of Elena's elbow and drew her on down the dim hallway. Elena allowed herself to be led away and plied with tea in the warm, candle-lit kitchens, while Queen Lucy chattered cheerfully with a friendly young Faun. It was only later that it occurred to her that the Queen had headed her off on purpose. The thought did not annoy her as much as she would have expected it to.


	3. The Rider

It was the morning of the Midwinter Feast, and Elena was sitting on the wall in a thick woolen wrapper, avoiding her cousins, when a lone rider came trotting up to the gates on a magnificent stallion. He was swathed so heavily in furs that it was impossible to discern anything about his appearance. The guards seemed to know him; in fact, by the way they bowed him through the gates and made much of him she guessed that he must be a person of some importance, for all that he had no escort.

Her curiosity piqued, Elena got to her feet, brushing a dusting of snow out of her lap, and went down to the stables. When she got there, the rider had unsaddled his horse and was brushing him down, ignoring the protests of the stable boys.

"For shame, Darryn, I've not forgotten everything I knew about horsemanship while I was at sea! Have you a flagon of spiced wine about? Good man. You may as well bring that if you mean to continue fussing."

He had removed his outer wrapper, and now she could see that he was a slender young man, several years younger than herself, with dark hair and narrow, laughing blue eyes. She was quite sure that she'd never seen him before but there was, nevertheless, a nagging familiarity about his face. Before she could make up her mind whether or not to come nearer, he glanced up and saw her.

"You can come in, milady," he said, smiling. "I shan't bite. I can't speak for Belion here, though." He stroked the stallion's nose, and the horse butted him affectionately. Elena ducked her head, feeling rather foolish, and came in. Darryn came rushing back with a steaming goblet, which he handed to the young man. "My most sincere thanks," said the rider. "But perhaps one for the lady as well?"

Darryn laughed. "I have missed you, Sire. Milady?"

"That would be lovely--thank you," Elena said absently, wrinkling her brow. _Sire_, the stable boy had called him. But that would mean--surely not--

"Ed!"

Elena gave a great start as a tall, lanky person burst into the stables, missing her by a hairsbreadth, and pulled the rider into a rough embrace. It was King Peter.

"We weren't expecting you for a fortnight, Brother," he said, pulling back and looking the rider up and down. "I believe you've grown taller still."

"Milord Iriel's tailors have been near tears, trying to keep me from appearing a vagabond," said the rider with a smile. King Peter smiled and said something else, but Elena had stopped listening. Ed. King Edmund. Now that she was looking, she could see the narrow golden circlet on his dark head. What manner of country _was_ this, that Kings arrived at their own castles on horseback, unescorted, and greeted their royal kin in the stables?

"I trust that your escort is not far behind?" King Peter was saying. "I've had no word of the ship's return."

"There was a spot of trouble with pirates," said King Edmund. "We put in for repairs at Glasswater, but I promised Lucy I'd be back for the Midwinter Feast. I rode up the coast."

"A two day journey in the dead of winter, and alone." There was a note of exasperation in King Peter's voice. "I hoped your time abroad might knock some sense into your thick skull."

"I'd a taste for fresh air and solitude. The Lone Islanders sent envoys, and we were packed like sardines on the ship for three weeks." King Edmund laughed, suddenly. "Moreover, Susan's letter gave me to think that you might need rescuing yourself. Something about visitors from Archenland?"

"Oh, don't _you_ start as well," snapped King Peter. "I've had quite enough from Susan and Lucy."

King Edmund shook his head, still chuckling. "My poor, pursued brother. Trapped with a passel of lovely and admiring ladies for a month--I don't know how you bore it. I shall, of course, do my brotherly duty to distract them. 'Tis only fair." He glanced in Elena's direction, eyes twinkling.

She was saved from having to say anything by Darryn's return. She accepted the goblet of mulled wine gratefully, for her hands were still quite chilled and the heat seeping in through her gloves was very welcome. This did, however, have the effect of directing King Peter's attention toward her. He gave a start and turned, and even in the dim light she thought she could see a flush crawl up his cheeks. "Milady Elena! I beg your pardon--I did not see you."

Elena ducked her head, unable to help the smile that came to her lips at seeing him so wrong-footed. She made no effort to curtsy this time, mostly because her hands were full of the goblet, but partly because she saw, as though looking at him for the first time, that he looked tired and harassed and she didn't want to be the reason that he went back to the horrible, stiff manners that he had been affecting around her and all of the other visiting ladies. "I was just making the acquaintance of your brother," she said.

King Peter smiled suddenly. "Certainly an acquaintance worth making, for all that I sometimes think his head is stuffed with straw." He shouldered King Edmund in a friendly manner as he said this, and was shouldered back in return. "I have been discourteous toward you, milady. I hope you can find it in you to forgive me."

It was true that he had been discourteous, but Elena found herself imagining what it must have been like for the past several weeks, for him--surrounded on every side by strangers in his own home, whom he could not ignore by the constraints of good manners and chivalry but who were a distraction from matters that were of much greater importance to himself and his kingdom. In his position, she might have behaved no better. "Of course, Sire; think nothing more of it," she said, and discovered that she meant it.

King Edmund clapped his hands together suddenly, and they both jumped. "Well!" he said. "Now that we've cleared that up, I believe I shall hunt up a hot bath and a fresh change of clothing, for I am in dire need of both."

"'Tis the truth," said King Peter, wrinkling his nose exaggeratedly. "If I were you, Brother, I should stay far from the clutches of our sister Susan. She'll have you locked up with the tailors for days if she sees you looking so ragged."

"I shall be on my guard," said King Edmund with a smile. "Milady," he added, bowing slightly to Elena, "it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"And yours, Sire," she replied.

Without further ado, King Edmund set down his goblet and strode from the room, leaving Elena alone with the High King. For a long time, neither of them said anything. She sipped from her goblet, enjoying the sweetness and warmth, and he leaned against the stable wall, looking thoughtful.

"It must be good to have your brother back," Elena ventured after a while. "I miss my brothers terribly, still."

He glanced up at her. His eyes were a striking shade of blue, she noticed, deep and vivid. "It's been difficult without him around. He's much better at this sort of thing than I."

She had to smile at that. "Fending off a lot of amorous courtiers, you mean?"

King Peter chuckled, shaking his head. "I suppose you could call it that. My own skill is on the battlefield, not in politicking. I confess myself rather lost."

"I suppose as these things go, there are worse skills to lack," said Elena. "My father really did send me to court because of the raids," she added truthfully. It was equally true that her aunts had spent every minim they could spare fitting her out in the hopes that she would find a suitable match at court, but she did not feel the need to say so. Politician or not, the High King was no fool.

"I know," he said. "Which is why I wanted to apologize for my manners. You've been torn away from your home and certainly did not deserve to bear the brunt of my ill-temper."

Elena shrugged, draining the last dregs of her goblet. "I invaded your sanctuary. Anyone would be snappish."

He looked startled. "Thank you, milady. And now--I believe I shall take my leave. Perhaps we'll see one another at the feast tonight."

And with a final affectionate pat for the horse he turned and walked out, leaving Elena wondering what, exactly, she had done to warrant thanks.


	4. Midwinter Feast

A/N: I'm not really satisfied with this chapter, but I can't seem to make it work, so I'm just going to throw it out there. Please be merciful.

The banquet hall was golden with the light of hundreds of candles and torches, gleaming on the polished armor of the sentries and illuminating the rich red and gold brocades that hung on the walls. Elena was seated between her cousins and rather wished that she was back in the stables.

"I still cannot believe how lucky we are to be here," whispered Serona on her right. "Don't you agree, Elena?"

"Lucky," Elena echoed, thinking of her father and brothers fighting bandits on the southern borders of Archenland. "Of course."

"I heard the castle servants say that King Edmund has returned," Mellia added from her other side. "Can you imagine? Why, if half the stories I've heard about _him_ are true--"

"Do hush," Serona interrupted. "It isn't fitting to speak of the King in such a way."

"He isn't _my_ king," said Mellia with a toss of her red hair. "I'm a free woman of Archenland and I shall say whatever I like."

Elena sighed, sipping from her goblet of wine. "It is also churlish to speak ill of our hosts."

"The High King Peter is our host, not his brother." Mellia flicked her fingers dismissively. "You know they call him the Traitor King?"

Elena, who had heard nothing of the sort, raised her eyebrows. "If he were a traitor, he'd be in the dungeons, not sitting on the throne."

"Don't be so naïve," Mellia laughed. Serona opened her mouth, looked back and forth between them, then shut it again. "Do you really believe that the High King would imprison his own brother? They don't get on at all though, I've heard, and no wonder. Brother or not, I shouldn't want such a viper sitting at my right hand. You never know when he might take it into his head to strike. Do you know," and here she lowered her voice almost to a whisper, so that Elena and Serona both leaned in to catch her words, "that they say he was the White Witch's lover?"

There was a silence in which Elena and Serona exchanged glances.

"Don't talk nonsense," Serona said at last.

"'Tisn't nonsense," said Mellia, affronted. "I had it from--"

But Elena never learned the source of Mellia's information, for at that moment the heralds at the door trumpeted a merry scattering of notes.

"All rise! All rise for the royal family!"

There was a great scraping and rustling as the court rose to its feet, and through the crowd, Elena could see the four walking single-file down the center of the room, with King Peter in the lead, followed by Queen Susan, tall and stately in blue satin, and King Edmund, who appeared to have procured some suitable clothes after all. Queen Lucy brought up the rear with bright ribbons in her hair, beaming.

"My goodness," whispered Serona as the Kings and Queens settled themselves at the high table. "They do look grand, don't they?"

"There's your Traitor King, Mellia," said Elena, jerking her head toward King Edmund, who was talking quietly with his brother. "It doesn't look as though they despise one another, does it?"

Mellia gave her a very superior look. "Of course they don't act it when there are _people_ about," she said. "That doesn't mean a thing."

Elena thought about the exuberant affection with which King Peter had greeted his brother in the stables that morning, and said nothing.

* * *

The feast was a lovely one as feasts go, with rich creams and roasted nuts drizzled with honey and syrup replacing the fresh fruits that were near-impossible to come by in the winter months. Elena ate entirely too much for propriety, but found that she didn't particularly care.

The last scraps of food were cleared away and the musicians setting up their instruments in the corner long before she was of a mood to move. She tucked her feet underneath her and watched the dancers move out onto the floor with a feeling of sleepy contentedness. Queen Lucy danced past, arm-in-arm with a faun and entirely out of time with the music, a lock of hair hanging loosely into her eyes and giving her the look of a blonde Shetland Pony.

Mellia was asked to dance right away by a slender young man with curly hair and a wild, beautiful face. Elena, remembering the stories of the Court of Bacchus, opened her mouth but it was too late; with a coquettish laugh, Mellia took his hand and was swept away in a whirl of colorful silks.

_It's not as though he's going to try something here in the middle of the Court,_ Elena told herself. And the stories of Bacchus hadn't painted him as _wicked_, really, just--wild.

"I do hope she doesn't do anything foolish," she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else. Serona patted her hand.

"Mellia can look after herself. You ought to go and dance, Elena. There are any number of young men casting calf-eyes at you."

Elena smiled in spite of herself. "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm quite content here." Serona smoothed her blue satin dress daintily. "I'm to marry Joshen in the spring--it wouldn't be fitting for me to go gadding about with strange men. It _is_ nice to watch, though, isn't it?"

"Hmm," said Elena, and helped herself to more wine.

* * *

Whether it was from the wine or the heat or the flickering candlelight, Elena was feeling more than a little lightheaded by the time Mellia dropped back into her seat with a huge sigh that was only a little affected. Elena looked over at her. Her hair was quite mussed and there were bright spots of color high in her cheeks. She looked giddy.

"Had fun, did you?" Elena said dryly, pushing a pitcher of water toward her. Mellia poured a glassful and gulped it, quite unladylike. There were droplets glistening on her upper lip when she put it down again.

"I'd a _marvelous_ time. It's a shame we don't have feasts like this back at home, don't you think?"

"A feast like this would beggar us back at home. Have you seen Serona? She said she was going to get some fresh air."

Mellia did not contest the assumption that she'd been out on the balconies (_probably having a fine time of it behind the flower arrangements,_ Elena thought snidely, then felt guilty for it). "She said she had a headache. I think she's gone to bed already. So that's one chaperone gone," she added with a sharp grin that lit up her face.

"You seem to be doing quite as well with chaperones as without them," said Elena, turning back toward the dance floor. King Edmund was dancing with a young woman that Elena thought she might know; for all Mellia's insinuations, he seemed to be quite popular with his court.

Mellia had followed her gaze. "He _is_ handsome, isn't he? --For a traitor, anyway."

"He's quite a nice-looking boy," said Elena, somewhat waspishly. "And I don't believe he's a traitor, either. I met him in the stables earlier and he was very kind to me."

"Does this mean you've set your cap for the High King's younger brother?" Mellia asked, eyes sparkling. "Have a care, Elena. What with his reputation--"

"I haven't set my cap for anyone," Elena snapped. "I'm going to marry a fat young shepherd from Father's lands and have a passel of fat little children. And I do wish you'd shut up about it already."

There was a strangled sound behind her, as though someone had hastily muffled a guffaw. Elena froze, then turned slowly to see exactly the last person she wanted overhearing that particular conversation. The High King had made his way down from the high table while she was distracted by the dancers and sat several feet behind her with his ankles loosely crossed and his crown slightly askew on his golden hair. Mellia gasped and flushed a brilliant shade of scarlet. "Sire," she said weakly. "I must--I most humbly beg--"

"Have a care, Lady Mellia," he said very seriously, though his eyes were dancing. "Gossip ill becomes a lady of your standing."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Mellia said in a small voice. "I am sorry."

He inclined his head. Mellia looked as though she would have liked to say something else, but eventually seemed to decide against it, and sat looking miserable. When a young courtier asked her to dance a few minutes later (stumbling awkwardly over the words and blushing profusely), she practically threw herself into his arms.

"I must apologize for my cousin," Elena said, because it seemed that she must say something. "She is very young." In truth, Mellia was only three years younger than Elena herself, but she was the youngest of five girls and had been the pampered pet of her family.

"I'm acquainted with the phenomenon," said King Peter. "She will learn."

"Still, though--it wasn't right, for her to say those things about King Edmund." Elena bit her lip. Whatever King Peter had heard, he hadn't been there to hear what Mellia had been saying before the feast, and she couldn't think that he'd be quite so placid about that. She felt, oddly, as though he _ought_ to know, but couldn't quite bring herself to tell him.

"There's some truth to it," he mused. "But that's not my story to tell." He didn't seem to notice Elena's astonished look--or if he did, he ignored it, looking out across the floor to where King Edmund was now dancing with Queen Lucy, swinging her about in wide, graceless arcs, while Queen Susan looked on and laughed.

The song ended, and Queen Lucy and King Edmund bowed to each other in an exaggerated fashion before leaving the floor. The musicians struck up a slow, soft melody, and Elena was just thinking that she should drag Mellia off to her bed (before she ended up in someone else's) when a hand on her shoulder made her look up.

The High King stood before her, and she noticed again how tall he was. "I was wondering," he said, and she wondered if it was just the flickering candlelight that made his cheeks look flushed, "if I might have the pleasure of a dance."

Elena felt as though the eyes of the whole court must be upon her as she nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and allowed him to draw her to her feet and out onto the floor. When she dared look around, no one was paying much attention; most of the party had trickled out while she wrangled with Mellia, and those who were left were mostly absorbed in their own conversations.

King Peter was a good dancer, which was good because Elena was feeling her wine a bit now that she was on her feet, but the song was slow enough that she managed not to embarrass herself. They did not speak, although he gave her a small smile whenever their eyes happened to meet.

Elena thought, swaying in the warm hall while the candles burned low in the corners and the whistling northern wind around the castle walls seemed very far away, that perhaps it was not so bad to be stuck here, after all.


	5. We Ride At Noon

The spring wind gusted in through the doorway, chill and wild. Elena skipped in with her hood thrown back and her ears burning with cold and was about to throw herself onto the bed when she saw that there was already someone sitting on it.

Serona had a letter in her hands, and her face was pale and drawn. Elena felt a chill trickle down her spine. "What is it?" she asked, setting down the satchel of winter apples she'd begged from the cook. "Serona, what is it?"

"There--" Serona's voice was scarcely a whisper. "There was an attack. On the keep. Your brothers--Joshen--" She bit her lip, tears coming into her guileless brown eyes.

Elena's legs went weak and she found herself sitting down abruptly on the floor. She did not speak for a long moment, as though by refusing to hear it she could make it untrue. "What--" her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "What happened?"

"They stormed the keep. Midwinter." The letter trembled violently in Serona's hands, and she set it in her lap. "The Lord--your father--he was leading a sortie in the east and by the time he made it through--" her voice broke, and she dropped her head into her hands, slender shoulders shaking.

"Karis--Gideon--" Elena whispered. Her hands and face felt very hot; the rest of her was as cold as if it had been dipped in ice.

"Dead," Serona sobbed, and the word felt like a blow. Karis. Tall, laughing Karis, who had welcomed his first child into the world only a few months ago. And Gideon, her baby brother. Gideon, who was only seventeen years old. A roaring noise filled Elena's ears, and she thought that for the first time in her life she might actually faint.

She didn't know how long she sat there staring blankly at her sobbing cousin. It was only when someone offered her a handkerchief that she realized she was crying as well. She wiped her eyes and looked up into the face of Queen Lucy.

The young Queen was garbed in fine dwarven mail that caught the light and threw it about the room in glittering sparks. The expression on her round face was fierce.

"Come," she said, offering Elena a hand up. "We ride at noon."

* * *

The castle courtyard was a riot of color and noise when Elena made it down, although every face in sight was deadly serious. She could see King Peter in light mail, already mounted on his tall black charger. He was barking orders to the knights around him and the expression on his face was hard and angry. King Edmund was with him, and her heart twisted anew to see him. His black hair was tousled and he looked young, so _young_, calmly checking the straps of his saddle. The armor that made his brother look regal and imposing seemed to dwarf his slender frame, and though she knew he was a veteran of many battles, she was reminded painfully of Gideon on the first day he rode out with their father's men.

"Can you ride?" asked Queen Lucy. "I didn't think to ask before, but we'll be riding hard to reach them by tomorrow. We can get an escort for you if you'd rather follow--"

"I can ride," said Elena shortly. "I can use a bow as well, though I'm not much good with a blade." Her voice sounded harsh to her ears and she thought she was probably being rude, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The idea of languishing here in the castle, _thinking_, was unbearable. Better to have something to do. And Father--

She didn't allow herself to finish the thought. The idea of how Father was taking this was not one she could bear to contemplate.

Queen Lucy led Elena into the knot of people and in short order, Elena found herself outfitted with a padded leather vest and a pair of men's trousers and riding boots. Queen Lucy handed her a chain shirt and she slipped it on, catching it painfully on her hair.

"You'd best braid your hair back," Queen Lucy said, eyeing the tangled mop critically. "It'll fall into your eyes, else."

Elena nodded and did so, and accepted the bow and quiver that Queen Lucy found for her--both far finer than any she had owned or handled before, though she had little inclination to admire the craftsmanship--with as much grace as she could muster. Queen Lucy did not seem at all affronted by her behavior; in fact, there was hardly a sign of the cheerful, breezy little Queen in this brisk young woman.

"We haven't a spare tent, so you'll be staying with me for tonight and we ought to make it to the keep by tomorrow night," she said as Elena swung herself into the saddle, feeling a little awkward with the weight of the armor (light though it was). "I've made the arrangements. I hope you don't mind--we don't have many women riding out with the knights."

"It's an honor, Your Majesty," Elena managed.

Queen Lucy patted her leg through the heavy leather trousers and swung up onto her own horse. "Stay with me," she said.

Across the courtyard, King Peter raised a gauntleted hand, and the milling crowd quieted.

"Friends," he said, his voice carrying effortlessly in the silence, "I shall waste no time with speech-making. In defiance of the agreements signed by both Narnia and Calormen, desert bandits have crossed over our Southern border into Archenland. Lord Cathmor's troops have been decimated and he sent an urgent summons requesting our succor." His eyes found Elena in the crowd, and he inclined his head to her. She bit her lip, feeling the tears begin to well again. "We ride 'til nightfall."

With that, he put the spurs to his steed and cantered through the gate, King Edmund at his side. The well-trained knights streamed out behind him in a river of gleaming armor, and Elena quickly lost herself in the sound of pounding hoofbeats and jingling metal.

* * *

It was dusk by the time they made camp along a wide, shallow stream on the southern plains of Narnia. Queen Lucy enlisted the aid of two sturdy dwarfs to set up the tent while Elena got their fire going, moving stiffly. She was sore and chafed and her legs felt like rubber.

"It's always a hard go of it the first few days," said a vaguely familiar voice as she collapsed onto a log, rubbing her sore muscles and cursing quietly. She looked up and saw King Edmund standing on the other side of the fire. "Peter and I--we wanted to speak with you," he said hesitantly, seeing her confusion. "About tomorrow, I mean. You're the only person we have who knows the land, and I thought--"

Thought, which had mercifully fled for the past several hours, came flooding back and Elena abruptly found herself swallowing hard around the lump that formed in her throat. "I--"

"Certainly not!" Queen Lucy said sharply, ducking out of the tent. "By the Lion's Mane, Ed, the pair of you have less consideration than a stump! As if the poor girl hasn't gone through enough without being interrogated on top of it--"

"That's all right," Elena interrupted quietly. In other circumstances, she thought she would have been amused at having been described as a 'poor girl' by someone at least five years younger than herself. "I want to help."

"We are honored by your courage," said a new voice, and the High King emerged out of the shadows. He had put aside his helm and shield, although his heavy broadsword was still belted to his waist. The firelight carved deep shadows in the hollows of his cheeks, making him look as distant and stern as a marble carving. This impression lasted until he smiled at Elena--such a sad and gentle smile that she thought her fractured heart must shatter into a million pieces to see it. "I met your brother Karis when he presented his daughter to King Lune's court," he added, sitting down. "He was a fine man. I am--so sorry."

Elena looked at her hands. "Thank you, Sire."

He shook his hair out of his eyes and put a hand on her arm. "His death--and that of Sir Gideon--shall be avenged. You have my word."

Elena blinked and met his eyes again. They blazed like blue fire beneath arched brows, and she found herself wondering how she could ever have thought him young. Emboldened by grief, she turned her palm up to grasp his hand in hers. His fingers were broad and strong. Comforting.

"Thank you, Sire," she said again, and meant it this time. He squeezed her hand, then released it, and she straightened with an effort. "I know the land for leagues our keep, and I believe there may be a way to bring the horses in through the mountains…"


End file.
